Miami Heist

by Van Allen Plexico

  “You’re sure of that?”

  He nodded sagely. “Absolutely. You don’t have to worry, ma’am. It will easily hold up yourself and a few friends, plus whatever belongings you might bring. Food, drinks.” He shrugged. “I assume you’re wanting to use it to host parties on a lake—?”

  The blonde ignored his question. “It needs to be more buoyant than that, Mr.—” She leaned in and examined the name badge pinned to his sport coat. “Mr. Gaubash.”

  “More than that?” His overly moist brows knitted. “Why would you need—”

  “We’ll be carrying lots of food and drinks, as you said. And people.”

  “Sure, but that’s not a prob—”

  “Lots and lots of food.”

  “I promise, that won’t be a prob—”

  “And drinks.”

  “Right.” He shrugged. “Still shouldn’t be a—”

  She was looking around and thinking, and now she interrupted him again.

  “And lots of people.” Her eyes twinkled. “I have a lot of friends, you see.”

  “Yes ma’am,” he replied, nodding quickly. “It will hold up as many people as you can fit on the deck, I’m pretty sure.”

  “And maybe a…” She was chewing on a nail, and then she seemed to have an epiphany and looked back at her Caddy. “Maybe a car.”

  His knee-jerk reaction was loud.

  “A car?”

  “Maybe,” she said, motioning with her hands to calm him down. “Let’s just say a car. How about that? Could it hold up a car?”

  Fred’s face was reddening. “A car. Well…” He tried to gather his wits and think. No matter how crazy this lady was, she looked to be ready to drop a sale in his lap today, and he needed that money. “To hold up a car in addition to people and food and drink and whatever else? You’d probably need to add extra floatation beneath it.”

  She nodded her blonde head as if she’d been completely expecting that response.

  “Of course. And—can you provide that?”

  “Provide it? Extra flotation? For a houseboat?”

  She looked at him like she’d asked for the easiest thing in the world. Like she fully expected he would keep packs of giant pontoons on hand for when tall blondes came in wanting to buy super-buoyant houseboats. “That’s right,” she said.

  He ran a hand over his chin and blinked very quickly. “I don’t know that we have anything exactly like that available here, now,” he said. “I’d have to make some calls, talk to guys at other dealerships around the state, see what’s out there—”

  Fred noticed as he said those last words that Mrs. Gold appeared to rapidly lose interest. He trailed off as she started to turn back toward her car.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Gaubash,” she told him. “I appreciate your help, but if you aren’t able to—”

  He made ready to chase after her and try any sales argument he could think of, but he was at a loss. And all that money was sauntering right back out of his lot.

  But then the tall blonde stopped, turned around slowly, and regarded him sidelong. Casually she took out a cigarette and stood there holding it.

  Fred was mystified at first, but he snapped back to reality and hurried over to light the cigarette.

  She puffed it, then nodded to him. “Thank you.” After another drag she nodded her head in the direction of the two houseboats. “Tell me this, Mr. Gaubash. If I were to buy, say, the green boat, which looks to me to be in slightly better condition… Well, could it be fixed up with parts from the blue one, if I bought that one, too? Extra floatation, plus any other nice amenities from the blue one that the green one might be missing or that might be broken or worn out?”

  Fred thought about this a second, then shrugged.

  “Sure,” he said. “They’re basically the same model, I think.”

  She nodded and offered him her first smile since just after she’d arrived. “Fine,” she told him, opening her purse. “I’ll take both of them.”

  7

  Wednesday, three days before the heist:

  “I found us a truck,” Harper was saying, “and I got it at a decent price.”

  Salsa nodded sagely. “Lois will be happy to hear that part.” He chuckled. “It’s weird, having her as our financier.”

  It was early the next morning after Lois “Gold” Funderburk’s visit to the boat dealership. Harper and Salsa had spent the rest of that day working on the boats, stripping down one of the two she’d purchased in order to make the other one ship-shape and ready for the job ahead. After that, they’d gone over their plans.

  Now, after some well-earned rest, they were both parked just above South Beach, in the public spaces along the main drag. Salsa looked at their surroundings and shook his head in wonder. This was Miami in all its Sixties glory; the avant garde architecture, the pastel pinks and oranges and aquas everywhere. Big, gaudy, colorful signs stood in parking lots just off the beach road, in front of souvenir shops and restaurants and nightclubs. From overhead came the buzz of single-engine planes flying back and forth, trailing long, skinny banners advertising everything under the sun. The air was salty as ever; the sky was a vivid bright blue except for a somewhat menacing line of dark clouds far out to the southeast. The wind was picking up a bit, causing the beach’s safety flags to flap madly.

  Salsa took off his gray sport coat, mopped his forehead with a handkerchief, and leaned casually against his bright red Mustang. “I’m never gonna get used to this heat,” he said.

  Harper stood stiffly to Salsa’s right, in front of his blue Camaro, his arms crossed. He said nothing. Salsa noticed to his mild irritation that the man was barely sweating.

  Seagulls screeched. Airplanes buzzed. Cars raced by.

  “So, where’s the truck now?” Salsa asked.

  “The seller still has it,” Harper answered. “We won’t take possession of it until Saturday. There’s nowhere to park something like that. Not and just leave it sitting for a couple of days.”

  Salsa nodded. “It’s big, huh?” He paused, then, “Big enough to hold quite a few bricks, I hope.”

  “US Army, World War II surplus. It’ll hold them. It’s about the only vehicle around here that could. Unless we want to try to make our getaway in a dump truck.” Harper scowled. “But it’s so damned...visible. Not to mention slow. I want to be rid of it as quick as possible. Transfer the bricks out of it fast. I’m thinking we rent a small warehouse space not too far from where the truck will be.”

  Salsa nodded at that. “There’s supposedly a storm blowing in,” he said. “Maybe that’ll give us some cover.”

  “Maybe.” Harper took out a cigarette and lit it; no mean feat, given the freshening breeze. “But it might also complicate things. We’ll see.” He looked over at his partner. “One more thing: We need pictures. At least of the shore. Places to land a boat of this size.”

  Salsa fumbled around with his own cigarette, managed to light it, took a drag, and nodded as he exhaled smoke. “On it,” he said.

  “You know where to find some?” Harper asked, mildly surprised.

  “I’ll take them myself.”

  Harper frowned. His tone was flat. “You will.”

  Salsa shrugged. “Lois and I were looking forward to taking the new boat out, to test it. And so I can get the hang of driving it, or whatever you call it. We’ll do some nature photography while we’re out there.”

  Silence for a long moment. Then, “Be careful. Don’t get too close to the island.”

  “I’ll use a good lens. They’ll never suspect a thing.”

  Harper’s frown didn’t go away, but he nodded.

  They went over a few more minor details. Then, “The meeting with Big Bob is tomorrow afternoon, right?” Salsa asked.

  “Four o’clock,” Harper replied. “His house.”

  Salsa nodded. “I’ll pick you up on the way.”

  “Enjoy your sailing,” Harper said. He tossed the remains of his cigarette past the pavement and onto
the hot sand, then turned and climbed into his Camaro. He put the key in the ignition and turned it. The big engine roared to life. Salsa was still leaning against his Mustang, staring out to sea, as Harper backed out of the parking spot and onto the main road, headed south.

  As Harper drove along, he looked out past the beach toward the ocean, due south, and could just see the tiny gray rise of Ruby Island, hazy in the distance. He’d wanted to lay eyes on it again, just to get the feel of it. To see if it was giving off any funny vibes he hadn’t noticed before. The whole thing still made him nervous. Once again, he turned their plan over and over in his mind, looking for weaknesses.

  The ideal scenario would be to hitch the whole island to the back of a boat and tow it away somewhere else, so that they could rob it at their leisure. If only such a thing were possible. The fact that there were very limited ways on and off the island was the first big red flag Harper had sensed about this operation—which was the main reason he’d been discouraging Salsa from undertaking it for months. Only the fact that they’d had most of their Vegas money stolen had persuaded him it was worth the risk.

  Another red flag was doing a robbery in South Florida to begin with. While he had decided to keep his little house in Flagler Beach a couple hundred miles to the north, Miami was where he lived most of the time now. As did Salsa. Under ordinary circumstances, he wouldn’t want to commit a robbery of this scale in the same town where either of them lived.

  But, of course, the circumstances here were very different.

  He didn’t like it, but it was what it was.

  He worked the gears of the Camaro, made two right hand turns, and raced north now, away from South Beach, away from the faint specter of Ruby Island, away from their target.

  Some distance behind him, but not too close, a battered, dirt-colored sedan of indeterminate make and model turned right twice, too, and followed along.

  And a blue Chrysler trailed after the sedan.

  Harper unwittingly led a parade away from Ruby Island as the storm clouds circled.

  8

  Thursday, two days before the heist:

  “I think I went into the wrong line of work,” Salsa said as he repositioned the little captain’s hat on his head. “I should’ve been a Navy man.”

  Lois snorted at this. She fanned herself with a paper plate as Salsa slowly brought the houseboat around. Despite a growing wall of dark clouds moving in from the east, the South Florida sun beat down on them mercilessly. At last a breeze, perhaps a first herald of the coming storm, cut across the deck. It settled like a damp towel over them, offering some small relief from the oppressive Miami heat.

  “I thought we got all the pictures you needed yesterday,” Lois said.

  “Yeah, but it’s important for Mr. and Mrs. Gold to be seen cruising around out here,” Salsa pointed out. In addition to the hat, he wore a natty bright blue blazer and white slacks.

  Lois shrugged. “To be perfectly honest, Saul, you needed the practice steering this thing, too,” she added.

  “Ehh. I’m a natural,” Salsa shot back. He grinned. “Maybe I should call myself Commodore Salzman.”

  Lois rolled her eyes at that. “If you want a fleet of boats,” she said, “you’d better make sure this thing comes off right. Because I won’t be buying them for you.”

  Salsa ignored her and focused on his steering, reluctantly admitting to himself that Lois had been right about that. The modified houseboat was big and sluggish and, while clearly capable of supporting the great deal of weight they planned to be adding to it soon, he didn’t relish the idea of trying to outrun or outmaneuver anyone in it. But he wanted to know its handling backwards and forwards by the time the big day arrived. And he wasn’t entirely done with the scouting work Harper had assigned him.

  They had taken a slow cruise around Ruby Island during their maiden voyage the day before, looking the place over from every direction and surreptitiously snapping a few photos. Today they’d done largely the same thing, while never approaching close enough to draw any unwanted attention. Once Salsa had been satisfied with what he’d seen and what he’d documented, he’d brought the boat back around facing west. Yet still they lingered in the midst of Biscayne Bay.

  “Don’t you think it’s about time to head in?” Lois asked after another fifteen minutes or so of lumbering about, waves insistently rocking them, powerboats and water skiers darting around them and even sailboats leaving them in their wake. The clouds were moving fast, covering almost a third of the eastern sky now. “I think it’s going to rain.”

  Salsa pursed his lips, considering, as he worked the boat’s wheel and the throttle. He was feeling increasingly confident in his ability to maneuver the vehicle and to understand the currents in which it was operating. And he was having more fun than he’d expected.

  A rumble in the distance got his attention. He glanced up at the sky, did a double-take and frowned. Lois wasn’t kidding; it really did look like rain was on the way. In fact, it looked dark all across the horizon now. Was something bad coming? He made a mental note to check the forecast when they got home.

  “Saul?” Lois said, more insistently now. She was tapping her watch impatiently.

  Reluctantly, he nodded and angled the boat around to where it was facing northwest. The low rise of a tiny little island slid past to port. This was the area he needed to know best, and he was giving it his full attention now.

  “Our berth is that way,” Lois called after a minute, sounding annoyed. She was pointing to the southwest, toward Miami proper.

  “I just need to get us a bit closer to Coconut Grove,” he said. “So I need to see how long it takes to get around Lummus Island.”

  “Coconut Grove?” Lois raised an eyebrow at this. “Any particular reason you want to go there?”

  Salsa raised his own eyebrow back at her. “Maybe because there’s a parking lot there, right next to the shore, and it’s almost entirely deserted at night?”

  “Ah.” Lois nodded slowly. Then she returned her attention to the picnic basket resting on the counter in front of her. “Well, I’m having lunch, while it’s still dry.” She reached in and pulled out the sandwich wrapped in wax paper.

  “Hey— could you hand me a tuna?”

  They cleared Lummus Island and the larger shape of Dodge Island came into view off to the right. They continued on a little bit farther, and then Salsa grabbed the binoculars off the dash and held them up, adjusting the dials. He could just see the shoreline of the mainland in the distance. He pursed his lips as he looked it over. Yeah, it was like Harper had said. There were plenty of spots where they could land the big houseboat there. Excellent.

  Seeing his obvious concentration on what he was doing, Lois kept quiet for the duration, but at last she tapped her watch again. “Saul? I have an appointment in a little while.” She gestured up at the sky, now more than half covered in dark, heavy clouds. “And I think the bottom is about to fall out.”

  “Right, right,” he said, putting the binoculars down and grinning back at her. “Of course, dear. Off we go.”

  One hand on the wheel and one holding his sandwich, and now entirely pleased with things, Salsa steered the big green houseboat northward, toward the city proper. The first drops of rain splattered down on them just as they reached the shore.

  9

  A couple of hours later:

  The rain had come and gone, at least for the moment, though the sky had grown even darker and more menacing. Salsa was pleased that the temperature had dropped, but now the air was even heavier than before; it lay like a wet blanket on him as he got out of his Mustang and stepped onto the sidewalk. After years living in the desert, South Florida was like an alien planet to him.

  Setting such concerns aside, he strode confidently into the front area of the Dade County Planning Office and nodded politely to the older woman who was waiting just ahead of him in line. She looked tough; like a Sherman tank with legs and a big, flame-red hairdo. For his part, Sa
lsa wore a light gray suit with a pale pink shirt beneath it, unbuttoned at the top. He’d left his hat out in the car.

  He waited patiently while the older woman stepped up, her turn having come, and issued several imperious requests, bordering on demands, of the gawky, gangly young man working behind the counter. Clearly the kid wasn’t exactly sure what she was asking about, and had to pose several follow-up questions to her. For her part, the woman made it clear she didn’t appreciate having to explain further. Finally, somewhat flustered, the kid loped away, disappearing into the back to attempt to retrieve the items she’d asked for.

  “Honestly,” the woman exclaimed with a sigh. She glanced back at Salsa and shook her head. “You’d think they’d hire people who knew what they were doing.”

  Salsa nodded sympathetically. “It’s a real shame,” he said to her. “There’s just no professionalism anymore.”

  Apparently satisfied with that response, the woman turned away again, drew out her compact and began to adjust her makeup.

  With the kid gone, there was no one else in the front office, aside from Salsa and the lady. He looked around to be sure, shrugged to himself, and strode casually around behind the counter. He looked over the sets of bound documents and map tubes filed on the shelves and beneath the counter, then started pulling various ones out and flipping through them.

  “Say,” the older lady noted, having looked up from her mirror and seen what he was doing, “I don’t think you’re supposed to be back there.”

  “You are absolutely correct,” Salsa replied. “And the sooner I’m out of here the better. But—as we both well know—with the kind of help they have on offer today, I’ll be here forever if I have to rely on that kid to find what I need.”

  The woman frowned at that, but then she slowly nodded. “I suppose you have a point there,” she said.